


Rosemary and Rue

by Petra LeMaitre (Petra)



Category: Promethean Age Series - Bear
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-24
Updated: 2009-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-05 04:06:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/37630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Petra/pseuds/Petra%20LeMaitre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kit's breath caught at the thought of Annie Shakespeare striding through Faerie, proud and unafraid though she knew as well as any what wickedness came of such a place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rosemary and Rue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lomedet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lomedet/gifts).



> Thanks to Carla and Sage for pre- and beta-reading.

_...and were it now summer, as it is January and the dead time of the winter, I would desire no better meat than a dish of ripe grapes. - Dr. Faustus_

Snow in Faerie had more beauty and less utility than snow in London; it covered every branch with diamonds, but quelled no stench. The chill reached through the smooth window-glass, but not to the fireside, nor through the heaped skins there to Will. His cheeks were flushed with heat, near as rosy as they were in his youth, though his hand trembled more than it ought, even here, even now. That tremor ate at Kit's peace of mind, for however sweet it was to be pressed against his side and see him looking healthy, the proof of the passing years was never far away enough to be forgotten.

Nor did it leave Will's mind, even sated as he was with feasting, rest, and love. "Annie will be missing me, an thy Queen does not bend time more neatly to her will."

Kit sighed and kissed his shoulder. If there were mirrors enough in Faerie, he would put Will before one and show him what changes this little time outside of London had wrought, how Morgan's help had eased his movements anew. Going back would kill him, as slowly and certainly as time killed all men. If he could delay Will's going without a pang of conscience, he would, and gladly. "Wouldst have me beg a favor? Thou'lt be home for Epiphany, and cold again."

Will chuckled. "'Twould be a better favor to have summer now." The silver threads in Will's hair glinted in the fire as they did under sunrays, more plentiful with each passing year in the world of iron.

"For such a favor, she would require a play of thee. Or me." Or more than that, he did not add. Will's words were enough to move the Mebd, surely.

"I might oblige for a summer come early." Will leaned against him. "Or we might, if thou wouldst trade lines with me. It has been too long since Chiron."

The thought of working together, if on a smaller feat than the fate of God, made Kit smile. "What wouldst thou? A rollicking comedy? Tragedy?"

"A sad tale's best for winter." Will sought his hand under the furs. "But for winter's end, let us begin with tragedy and end in joy."

"From bitterness to sweetness." Kit squeezed his fingers, thanking the small peace Mehiel had given him, as he did every time he suffered human touch without a qualm. "Where shall we set the scene? Not Faerie, I pray thee."

"No; I have a play in mind. Dost remember Greene's Pandosto?"

"Aye. Sicily, Bohemia, and tragedy indeed. Where is the comedy?"

Will hummed, a soft, homely sound. "It wants a clown."

Kit snorted. "A clown makes farce, not hope. It wants a man who does not love his daughter overmuch."

"Then he won't. Easily mended."

Kit shook his head. "Then he must have some other animus against her, else where's the play?"

Will thought a moment. "Love wronged. Jealousy. Cuckoldry, mayhap."

"Not so mad as your Othello."

"Nay." Will gave him a wry smile. "Thinkest thou they will whisper of it, should we take it to Burbage's Globe? Shakespeare has another horned hero. What plagues him so?"

"If 'twere thy own plot, perhaps, but on the bones of another story, 'twill pass. The only tongue with right to wag on't is thy goodwife's, and not against her own virtue."

"She will have the whole tale of its writing when I am safe home, from this hearth to the summer we'll buy." Will sighed, his eyes looking out the window as if he could see his home in Stratford, chilled at the beginning of winter. "I would fain share it with her."

Kit's breath caught at the thought of Annie Shakespeare striding through Faerie, proud and unafraid though she knew as well as any what wickedness came of such a place. "Thou mayest call me mad with jealousy, but I'd not have her see thee here."

"Nay? She's not the sort thy elves favor, and not like to be caught in their snares." Will's mouth twisted at this last. "Nor was she, even in the spring of her years. Too solid by half, in all the measures I am not."

"I would not fear for her virtue against any comer but thee. An she loves thee as well as when I saw her last, she would not have thee leave once she saw thee look so well." Kit touched his cheek, rough with greying beard. "And it would pain her."

Will groaned and put his head in his hands. His fingers shook, faint and insistent. "I couldn't stay here. The price is too dear."

"I know that all too well," Kit said dryly. He did not protest, though he wanted to, that a soul was not so worthy as Will's self. Had he another of his own to give, he might have argued the point with Queens and Lucifer, but Will could not be bought for such a price, even if Kit had been able to pay it.

"Even for summer." Will looked up, frowning at him. "What joy is there in infirmity unending? At least thou hast thy youth."

"Thou'rt more than thy years."

His laughter was bitter. "Nay, thou'rt that more than I could ever wish to be." Will freed one hand from the furs. "Heed me not. Let us write."

Kit looked toward the fire to hide the sorrow in his eyes, then stood, letting the furs fall from his naked back. "There's ink, an it will flow."

Will's sigh was less the protestation of the aged and more the lusty tones of one who has not yet surrendered to the years' depredations. "If thou wouldst fetch it, and paper enough for scribbling, in such garb, then more than ink may yet flow, however wintry my aspect."

The room's air was cold enough that it was as much a geas as a lewd display to stay naked. Kit grinned. "Thou'lt need to warm me again after."

"With all my heart, and all the verses I can conjure." Will smiled back at him. "But do not tarry, lest I begin without thee."

"The verses?"

He laughed, a sound that did not age. "And the verses, too. I'll have a speech for thee to repair by the time thou repairest beside me."

Kit kept to the carpets and fetched pen, ink, and paper quickly. He sat by the fire again, his chilled thigh against Will's warm one. "Tell it."

Will shivered, overplaying the cold, and tucked the furs around them. "Thou hast frozen my wicked ambitions in the bud and left me only poetry."

"How cruelly thou liest," Kit said, and set the ink near enough the fire to warm it before he kissed Will.

*

_It appears, by his small light of discretion, that he is in the wane; but yet, in courtesy, in all reason, we must stay the time._ \- Midsummer Night's Dream V.i

The firm set of Annie's mouth was a line destined to live in song and story under other names, for Will knew better than to address his poetry to it, yet it deserved many an ode. Wars raged behind such an expression and stayed hidden, whether they were sparked by the duplicity of the chandler or the diffidence of her husband's lover, standing by the door and shaking the snow from his hobnailed boots. "Good morrow, Mistress Shakespeare," Kit said when he was fit to stand on two feet, and gave her the sort of bow he used with Morgan.

It did not change the line of Annie's mouth by the faintest amount, though her eyes traced him as they would look over any intruder, seeking whatever hints of change she might find in his stance and clothing. He was dressed in the plainest clothes he had in Faerie, woolens that would not raise the slightest murmur in Stratford. "And to thee, Master Kit. Hast supped?"

"Aye and my thanks, but a warm mug of cider would be a blessing."

"And thee, husband?" Annie had given him the same uncompromising look when he first came through the door, but there was more softness in it the second time, as if the small changes a few days in Faerie had wrought were enough to ease her heart as well as his step.

The food available in the Queen's palace was no less fantastic for one who could eat it. Will had not come so near to straining his breeches by eating mortal food in a decade, and Annie could surely see it. "I would gladly drink anything thou wouldst offer me."

He held out his hand to her where she stood by the hearth, making as subtle a display of it as he could. As bits of business went, he'd done better on the stage and better in bed, but Annie's gaze flickered to his hand and then to his face, and she took his hardly trembling hand in hers for a brief and hearty clasp. "An I stand here with my hand in thine all the day long, the fire will die and we shall all freeze." She looked to Kit, then back to Will. "And thy guest will go hungry."

Will kissed her rough knuckles, smiling at the honest strength of them and at the sigh Annie made into scorn, not soon enough to hide it. "Then for thee, and for Kit, let us part for the nonce."

Annie let his hand go and turned toward the hearth. "For all thy fine words, that is the most sense thou hast spoken yet. The spice for the cider is in the cellar. Wouldst fetch it, that I may treat thy guest properly?"

"Where would I find it?" Kit asked, shifting from foot to foot. Annie frowned.

"I'll go," Will said, taking up the ashplant standing waiting by the door. "How much should I bring?"

"There is only the one bag, with the merchant's mark clear on it."

He could feel Annie watch his step as he went. When he was not quite far enough to hear nothing, she let out her breath in a great sigh and said, "Thank you."

"Truly," Kit said, "few things could please me more than to give him surcease." There was a strain evident in his tone, for all he was some few hours from Faerie.

"Not only him," Annie said, a catch in her voice.

The murmur of Kit's reply was too low for Will catch the meaning of his words, and he could not bring himself to make his step any more halt than time had made it.

When he came back with the spice, Annie's eyes were bright and faintly red, and Kit was spreading his hands in front of the fire, standing nearer to her than Will would have expected to find them. The jest Will had made before about his mobs of horned men came back to him with a force that made him smile. How easy things would be if that were all that lay between them. "Thy spice," he said, and Annie took it from him.

"Our spice, husband," she corrected him, and he bussed her cheek for it.

"Indeed, and let us share it amongst ourselves to drive out the cold."

Kit laughed softly. "A fair thought from fair company indeed."


End file.
